


WHAT YOU WILL COME BACK TO

by curvatures



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, College Setting, Daichi has to fist fight his insecurities, EXES. it's an exes with benefits fic, Implied Sexual Content, M/M, They make out a couple times be warned, Underage Drinking, alcohol/drinking mentions, daisuga: It's Complicated, i am obsessed with repetition and it shows, lots of cursing as well, nothing explicit though, they are so dumb, they are tipsy in some scenes, this is sort of a not-quite-friends with benefits type thing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-05
Updated: 2021-03-05
Packaged: 2021-03-16 19:48:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,386
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28961955
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/curvatures/pseuds/curvatures
Summary: Suga has been talking to him again. Or… it’s probably more apt to say he’s been fucking him again.
Relationships: Sawamura Daichi/Sugawara Koushi
Comments: 23
Kudos: 69
Collections: Haikyuu Writer Jukebox Round One - Mitski





	WHAT YOU WILL COME BACK TO

**Author's Note:**

> hihi this is my entry for the haikyuu writer jukebox round 1 (mitski)!! my song was a loving feeling. title is from the poem "you begin" by margaret atwood !
> 
> [playlist](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/5SL6DytK1dn9TvyF7V2LO1?si=8ZyHE1G8TquSFVt7Glikmg)

Daichi can’t pinpoint exactly when, but he’s pretty sure that somewhere along the line he fucked up. And not in some minor _oopsie_ kind of way, more of a _how the hell did I get here_ kind of way.

Suga has been talking to him again. Or… it’s probably more apt to say he’s been fucking him again, though Daichi bites the inside of his cheek when he thinks of the word _fucking_ to describe whatever the hell’s going on. He’s been lying in bed for what feels like forever, just running over the past two weeks in his head, trying to understand either _what_ is going on or _why,_ and coming up with… next to nothing. He probably hadn’t heard from or talked to Suga in a few months, and then all of a sudden… Well. 

They had broken up close to a year ago, now (another thought which makes him bite his cheek), having agreed at the end of Nationals that as they approached graduation it would be better to really focus on their futures and be open to new experiences (including people). If there’s anything the two of them have always been, it’s realistic; having a high school sweetheart did not fit the bill.

This would be okay, maybe, except that life is a comedy and Daichi is always the brunt of the joke, so right before graduation he finds out that Suga had ended up enrolling at the very same school as him. Which, to be frank, he had tried to convince himself wouldn’t be a big deal— It’s a _huge_ school, and since Daichi’s hoping to pursue something in STEM and Suga’s somewhere in humanities, there’s not many instances in which they can run into one another— but.

Suga is _unbelievably_ popular.

Daichi had known Suga was going to make a lot of friends— he’s undeniably charismatic, a people person at a level Daichi has never been able to reach— but Daichi’s pretty sure he could say _everyone_ knows Suga and it wouldn’t be an exaggeration. Daichi finds out rather fast that if you talk to someone enough, chances are they’ll end up telling you a story in which Suga is mentioned, even if only once. It is so _strange_ to hear people talk about Suga when just six or seven months ago Daichi had been graduating alongside him. What do you say in this kind of situation? _I know him? I_ knew _him?_ _We went to high school together?_ _There was a period in my life where I couldn't imagine myself without him?_ All of this would lead to avenues of conversation he doesn't want to follow, so he just says nothing and takes whatever little sundrops of Suga he can get.

They had promised to stay friends, but this is always easier said than done. He doesn’t want to think he “should’ve known” that it wouldn’t work— because if there’s anyone who’s able to make things work it’s Daichi (and Suga)— except it didn’t work. They were still plenty friendly when they saw each other, but it was with a strange tinge of something melancholy, maybe dejection. A little awkward, a little empty, a little quiet. In a sense, it was as though they had both resolved to remember their relationship as a chapter in their lives which was over and meant to be closed for good. 

All of this really fucking sucked, and yet. Yet. It couldn’t have possibly prepared him for _this._

Just when he becomes resigned to the absence of Suga in his life, the man in question pops back into it, seeming just as casual and carefree as Daichi remembers. They meet by chance and afterwards Daichi doesn’t expect to see him again, but Suga just keeps… coming back. The routine is the same every time: They kiss, they fuck, and then Suga traipses on out, almost like he can’t get away fast enough.

And it drives him crazy. 

He feels stupid agonizing over this, still so hung up over the weird and tattered remains of a high school relationship, but with the way he and Suga had drifted even after expressing that they had wanted to stay friends… It kind of still feels like an open wound.

Here’s the thing: Time passes just the same without Suga as it did with Suga. Days fall forward on top of one another, and even though he lives them all and none of them are quite exactly the same, he finds he cannot tell them apart when he looks back, like he’s spilled something sugary and thick on a notebook and now cannot unstick the pages.

He doesn’t try to kid himself by thinking that maybe he could find some sort of distraction. Suga had been a not-so-everlasting staple in his life, and when he left he sliced a little hole into the fabric of Daichi, whether he had intended to or not. Daichi can function without him, but that doesn’t mean there’s no dull ache which follows him sunup to sundown, persistent. He’s not incapable of laughter, or enjoying himself… it’s just that when he gets home at night and the door closes real quiet, the absence becomes louder. Like _oh._ Right. How could I forget.

If you tug hard enough at the rip in the fabric, the hole will grow.

So when Suga returns in a whirlwind of magenta LEDs and cheap vodka mixed with pineapple-mango juice from the campus center shop, things become just that little bit more painful. 

  
  


—

  
  


The first time they hook up after parting ways is at a party, loud and wild. Daichi— having finally been coaxed out by some friends from his biology lab— is having a pretty regular night, all things considered, but it doesn't last long.

He’s only one drink in and returning to the kitchen to get himself another when he bumps into Suga— or, well, doesn’t bump into him, but finds him nonetheless— who’s mixing his own drink, pouring something pink and sweet looking into a cup. When he sets the pitcher down and looks up, his expression morphs into that of someone who was not expecting to see One Person In Particular, was expecting anyone _but_ him. Even still, he calls out, unable to go back to the moments prior in which Daichi was not in the kitchen nor on his mind.

“Daichi!” His face is quick to recover from the initial pause, even if the new smile feels like a weird and distant geniality. “It's been awhile! I'm... I'm glad to see you.”

“Yeah,” Daichi replies, his train of thought coming to a complete stop. _God damnit._ Enough time passes in which it becomes too late for him to add something like a “I'm glad to see you, too,” without it seeming weirdly tacked on, so he flounders for a moment before speaking next. 

“How are you?”

“Ah, you know,” Suga says, before seeming to realize no, of all people Daichi probably _wouldn’t_ know (a realization which pinches at him), and then adds “I mean, well. Classes are a little difficult this semester, but nothing too bad, really. Do you want me to…?” He gestures at Daichi’s cup.

“Oh, yeah, please,” Daichi says, and passes him the empty cup, despite having no idea what the hell he’s pouring. The silence while Suga mixes him a drink is either the kind where it’s supposed to be natural and Daichi is overthinking it, or just plain awkward. His hands, without something to hold onto, twitch. He watches the knuckles in Suga's fingers move as he tilts the bottle, allowed to observe as closely as he'd like while Suga's attention is elsewhere.

It’s not long (though the quiet feels near-endless) before Suga is returning his cup to him. Together they head back into the main room, with the endless violet, and Daichi (again) watches Suga tip his drink back for a sip, the long line of his throat so sharply familiar. One moment he's somewhere close to fine and the next everything within him is swelling, leaving him entirely overstimulated— the lights, the music, the way it’s gotten crowded in here and now Suga is so close he can fucking _smell_ him again, laundry detergent and aftershave and a little bit of sweat alike— so, so much he feels dizzy with it, although maybe that’s the alcohol. Suga lowers his cup and tilts his head, glancing over to the corner of the room when a cheer goes up— someone’s doing well at some sort of drinking game— and the dip of his collarbones shines a bit, the lightest sheen of sweat just barely visible. His shirt has a wide neckline that hangs low on him, and he’s wearing a silver necklace, a thin little thing which gleams alongside his skin. A lone small hoop, hardly noticeable, sparkles on his left ear. Daichi can’t recall a time Suga ever wore jewelry. It’s so crowded, and too hot, and he’s just. He’s positively sick. 

_God—_ and he tries not to think further, but it’s too late,— _I know what he tastes like, right there._ Or. He _knew._ Once.

Suga turns to him and Daichi doesn’t quite pull his eyes away from his throat fast enough, and _fuck_ he can tell Suga knows he wasn’t just staring blankly at a point in his line of sight because he grins, mood only further bolstered by the excitement around them. In the lighting, and with the revelation of Daichi still longing for the hollow of his neck, it looks a little sharp and wild. (He’s always been one who feeds off of the collective energy, Daichi thinks.) 

“Well,” Suga starts, “what have you been up to?”

—

Twenty minutes later finds him pressed up against a door, Suga smiling— always fucking _smiling_ — close against his lips. He sucks in a breath when he pulls away, then leans forward again to press his wet mouth to Daichi’s neck. _Fuck._ He lets out a noise, low and unbidden, and Suga bites at him lightly in response.

Suga’s an expert at knowing when best to beat around the bush and when to cut straight to the point; it comes with being a people person. At some point he had just said, “You were looking at me,” and the sentence didn’t hold an ounce of doubt but there was a question in the way he voiced it, how Daichi knows when he said “looking” he meant _looking._ With his head tilted ever so slightly, eyes wide and curious, his face was made almost challenging. _Will you meet me where I am?_

_Will you meet me?_

Multiple thoughts had occurred right then in Daichi’s head, a jumble of observations: How beautiful Suga is; how surprised he was versus how _natural_ it felt to receive the sudden proposition, after so many months; what this might mean for the two of them, afterwards… the list went on. At the root of it all, every single last one of these thoughts were panicked and weakly fluttering things which paled in the shadow of a much stronger wave, like a rising tide: 

Above all, Daichi misses him. He misses him so damn bad.

“Yes,” he had returned— a response to both what was said and not said— and held out his arm so Suga could wrap a hand around his wrist (not the hand, not the hand) and lead him away from the party. Here, against an unfamiliar door in an unfamiliar hall, with Suga sucking a mark into the vulnerable skin under his jaw, he decides that he's sick of puzzling over outcomes. Maybe this is a bad idea, but he’s sure as hell not going to turn him away.

  
  


—

  
  


So no, maybe he can’t really tell why this has been happening, or what happened that night in particular to set off such a chain of events, but what he does know is that Suga’s eyes sparked like metal on concrete when he caught Daichi admiring his collarbones. And Daichi was helpless to stop anything that came afterwards, because he wanted it all, wanted _so_ much, never considered anything otherwise. Part of him was resolved to take whatever he could get, right then and there— so when Suga left swiftly afterwards, he had thought _Well, that’s it, then_ , because he had already gotten more than he would ever have expected. When Suga shows up randomly at his door, days later, with a breathless _hi_ and a kiss, and hardly any more words than that first night, Daichi can’t bring himself to feel anything other than lucky.

Daichi struggles a lot with trying not to feel selfish. He has 4 siblings. He's used to spending most of his money on food; in high school it was food for the team, for friends, food for his little brothers and sisters, and— maybe somewhere in there, after all of the others were taken care of— food for himself. He’s afraid that when Suga knocks on his door— three times, swift and unmeasured— and swoops into his dorm and his bed and his life once again that he’s asking for too much, even if he’s not asking at all. Just Suga on his own feels like a miracle, a wonder. On some level Daichi understands they are made up of the same materials, but all of this fades into insignificance when he's faced with the starlight of Suga, up close and personal. _Absolutely unreal,_ he thinks. The quiet noise Suga makes when Daichi tugs at his hair cannot be of this Earth, and maybe this is why he had agreed so easily when they decided it was best they separate. If you’re a child of the dirt, how does it make sense to converse with stars? He knows he's being melodramatic, but Suga shakes him up in ways he's never prepared for. 

Suga has always pushed him to take. He remembers quite well when they lost their first match against Seijoh, when he had looked out of that window in the stairwell and said _I’m thinking about retiring._ He also remembers how Suga said _But is that what you want?_ How he drew his desires out of Daichi, large and small alike. Offering him encouragement, or notes in class, or the bits of his lunch that he didn’t like. Offering him love. Offering him support, until Daichi wasn’t so afraid of _taking,_ that it became less of a bad thing and more of a regular push-and-pull ritual of everyday life. To give and receive. And if there’s one thing Daichi doesn’t struggle with, it’s receiving. 

In his head, he is reliving the previous hour again; Suga breathes an exhale of a laugh against his lips, breaking a kiss with a joyous smile. Every time he comes over it’s as though he’s ripped up every single one of Daichi’s carefully planted roots, sending him spinning into free fall. He’s always been someone who shoves him to his limits, takes him to the edge and makes him toe the line until he’s willing to dive in.

Always the plunge, the fear and the apprehension, the feeling of his stomach dropping as he takes the leap. And then: Euphoria. Euphoria. Euphoria.

  
  


—

  
  


For a while, it’s fun. It’s easy to overlook consequences or ignore deeper feelings when you’ve got a laughing Sugawara Koushi in your arms, made pink and warm with kisses. Made breathless and lovely. They don’t actually talk all that much and when they do it’s inconsequential, teasing and light-hearted. All of these little things, so reminiscent of past times, of silly conversations and play-fighting, fill him with bubblegum nostalgia and make ready to burst. 

_Burst_ being the keyword, though, because bubbles always pop. Laying in bed afterwards is awful, no way around it, everything reduced to cooling sheets and fading touches. The moment Suga catches his breath he’s up and running again, flitting away with a cheeky smile and hardly a wave of the hand. 

Gone, just like that.

And what hurts the most? Suga won’t even meet his eye in public. He’s run into him a few times since they’ve been doing… each other, and in every instance Suga’s gaze is quick to flit away once he catches sight of Daichi. He’s never _not_ surrounded by other people, and never with anyone who Daichi knows, so they just drift on past, Suga and Daichi mere ships passing in the night. It’s like a constant reminder that even if he can have Suga back in his life in this strange way, it’s only a temporary accommodation. They’re not _together._ He goes back home, or Suga closes the door and once again it’s just Daichi. Just Daichi, trying to get the boy he loves to look him in the eyes. Just Daichi, listening to footsteps moving quick down the hall. 

He lies in bed and stares at the ceiling and thinks about how Suga touches him, how he kisses him, so deep and drowning. Like the two of them are always left listing towards one another even when they part.

Daichi’s good at paying attention to the little details, which allows him to be an exceptional overthinker when he can no longer ignore his feelings. He wants to believe that there’s hope in all of this, because clearly Suga still wants him in this sense, so why not others, but for every memory turned warm red with desire there is a leaving to pair with. 

And at the center— fear. Of rejection, of the fallout, of his own massive feelings. He spends far too much time just cycling through it all, and then gets angry at himself for not being able to relinquish these emotions. Angry for not being upfront about what he wants. Angry for being afraid of those wants. He’s willing to choke it all down, though, because sooner or later Suga will return (he does not let himself imagine otherwise) and then things will be okay, even if only momentarily.

It hurts, it hurts, but if this is what he’s allowed, if this is what it means to have Suga back in his life in some way other than hearing his name in passing… He wouldn’t have it any other way.

  
  


—

  
  


To struggle with _taking_ is to struggle with yourself, to fight the outstretched hand even as the palm unfurls. Because he is so preoccupied with the weight of his wants, he worries they are too heavy for another to bear. Wouldn’t Suga say something if there was something more to be said? Daichi lays back in his cooling sheets and wonders if he’s just imagining the walls pressing in on him, _trapped, trapped,_ and then he thinks _well, if Suga’s a bird, if Suga’s a boy, if Suga’s a star,_

_then at least I’ve set him free._

  
  


—

  
  


Suga always manages to surprise him, so naturally everything comes to a head on an otherwise mundane Thursday night. Daichi’s walking back from an early evening class when all of a sudden Suga pulls up beside him— _how long was he walking behind me,_ Daichi wonders— and, without saying a word, simply matches his pace. He’s alone for once, which is strange, and by another anomaly they don’t really run into anyone on the way back, no one who recognizes Suga and calls out to talk. The silence fills the air with tension, because Daichi knows what is going to happen. And while it makes his heart pound with excitement, it also makes him near nauseous with anxiety. He knows what will come after, too.

They walk side by side all the way back to Daichi’s dorm, still no words exchanged, and then once he shuts the door behind them Suga slides his hands into Daichi’s hair and pulls him so they are chest to chest. 

He wants to be able to focus on just being here with the boy he loves, but that’s just it, that’s the _problem_ , this is the boy he loves, the one he’d let dismantle him piece by piece regardless of if he trusted him to put him back together, because he’d be grateful just to be touched.

He slides his hands from Suga’s shoulders, down his chest, his sides, and to his hips, where he pushes them up under his shirt and feels him lean in, shuddering, nipping at his lip with gentle teeth. 

He wants to be present. He wants to be fully there.

But it’s been a long day, and Suga’s fingers are cold where they rest at the collar of his shirt, and he can’t stop thinking _what if what if what if,_ can’t stop _wanting_. Can’t stop thinking of how Suga is just going to leave afterwards. Maybe it’s because of the walk home, so similar to so many walks they shared in the past and yet a few hundred kisses off the mark of where they’d once been. Maybe it’s the way Suga sighs when he mouths down his neck. All of it is like that moment at the party, when he first caught sight of the violet shining in the dip of his collarbones, and suddenly he was overfull, overflowing. Lately love has become a sickness he can’t keep down, a fever always flaring.

Suga tugs at his hair to pull him away from his collarbones and then they’re kissing again, and it’s too much, it’s all too much— 

He must notice something change in Daichi’s movements, or his body language, because he pulls back a bit and peers into his face, eyes serious.

“Daichi?”

There's something lodged in Daichi's throat, desire unvoiced, heavy, strangling. Instead of the words he wants, all he can manage to choke out is “I’m… sorry. Uh. I’m sorry, Suga,” and _wow_ it feels like he hasn’t said his name in forever, this is just— oh, god— “Can we stop this? I don’t think I can do this anymore.” 

Suga withdraws from him immediately, no more sweet palms on his thighs, on his shoulders, and all of it hurts. Here, not here, none of that really _matters_ because all of it feels the same, all of it is increasingly painful. All of it leaves him as empty and as hungry as he felt before.

“Of course,” Suga says, letting his hands rest in his lap. “Is there anything I can— Daichi!”

He doesn't get to finish, because Daichi gets up and leaves before anything else can be said. 

He’s not sure where he’s headed, just that he needs to _move._ The air is already turning cool with the dimming sunlight and he walks for a long while with his hands balled up in his pockets, shoulders and back so rigid it makes his spine ache. His head is a jumbled mess, just lots of _oh my god, oh my god_ and _what now_ and _is that it?_

Eventually he ends up at the campus center, where he picks a table off to the side from the general bustle of students and pulls his knees up on the chair. He doesn't bother to keep track of time, just scrolls through every single social media app on his phone until he runs out of things to distract himself with. When he chances a look at the clock again, it’s been hours. The entire walk home he shivers into his sweatshirt, the sun having set long ago, and when he gets back it’s to find that Suga is gone. Daichi cannot tell if this is a good thing, or… not. (He asks himself _why would I expect anything else?_ and cannot answer his own question.)

In the end, all he does is sit on his bed and clench his hands tight in the sheets, hunched over, still wanting, still lonely. 

  
  


—

Later, much, much, later, he'll realize what he had wanted to say was _Stay. Just this once, please._ But even this had felt like too much to ask.

—

Time passes just the same without Suga as it did with Suga. The days fall forward, and Daichi goes with them. 

About a week or so after he runs out on the boy he loves, he’s approached by him on his walk home— not unlike the week before— except for an entirely different purpose.

“Hey,” says a voice he’d know anywhere, loud and clear. He doesn’t look up, eyes trained on the path in front of him, until he hears it again, this time with a name: “Hey, Daichi.”

He stops and turns, surprised to find he was the one being addressed. When he looks up he sees that not only is this really _Suga_ who’s sought him out, but also that he had been walking with other people, who he can see are moving away now, casting a last glance at the two of them over their shoulders, having been shooed off.

“Hey,” Suga repeats, softer now that he's closer. “Can we talk?”

Daichi swallows and nods after a moment, immediately nervous, confused, and— somewhere underneath it all— oddly _hopeful,_ in addition to the initial bewilderment. Together they walk to a bench nearby, more shaded and concealed than the main path. Despite his creased and concerned face, Suga is beautiful, dappled in spring sunlight. The sight of him fills Daichi with a confusing cocktail of emotions, but he’s still enrapt by him.

“I just wanted to check in with you after last week,” he starts, “and to apologize, on top of everything. I’m sorry it took me so long to actually… talk to you about this. It was unhealthy of me, and selfish, and…” he sighs. Daichi’s fingers twitch. Suga takes a moment to breathe in, slow. 

“I wasn’t upfront with you. Or myself. And. If I’m being totally honest, I don’t just want to… see you in passing, or only… for sex. I miss being able to see you _all_ the time, in the morning and the afternoon and the evening. I started this because I couldn’t let sleeping dogs lie, and if you want to go back to how things were before...” He trails off. 

"I'm fine," Daichi says. The words feel far-off, an echo underwater. Suga wanted to check in on him, see how he's doing. Suga said he wants... to see him...

There's the bubble again, about to burst in an entirely different kind of way. Daichi wants to laugh, or cry, or maybe both— he puts a hand over his mouth and makes a noise somewhere between a giggle and a whine— and Suga says “What is it?”

“Sorry, I— I don’t think you’re selfish, because I... I think I know what you mean. I felt the same. I _feel_ the same.”

Suga sits up straighter then, eyes intense. Daichi goes on, heart thundering after hearing his words, holding tight to _all the time. Want to see you._ He doesn't want to jump to conclusions, but the hope is already unfurling its golden petals, taking root.

“I dunno, I just figured that… Or. Well. I guess I didn’t figure anything. I was afraid to say something because I wasn’t sure if you wanted anything _more_ , and I didn’t want to drive you away by bringing it up.” 

“You... idiot,” Suga laughs, though his eyes look watery. “I want _everything_ with you.”

Daichi’s heart is thundering in his chest. “You mean…”

“I mean I miss you, Daichi. I miss you, and I’m still in love with you, and I never stopped thinking of you even after…” He gives a breathless laugh and makes a vague gesture. “Well.”

Daichi thinks of the purple, oozing off the walls. The glare of the kitchen lights, and how Suga’s hair had sparked beneath them. Daichi thinks of his mouth, his hands, his hip bones. Of every single one of his beautiful teeth. Suga’s face looks like glass, so easy to shatter in the thin midday light.

It had not occurred to him that the trembling hands of a lover bear an eerie similarity to aching palms afraid to ask for more.

_No,_ Daichi thinks. _Don’t cry. Please. I’d let you turn me inside out. I’d let you slice me open and sew me back together all wrong. I’d give you all my days and all my nights, every last dripping star and every egg yolk morning._ God, he’s so. He’s so. There’s so much he wants to say, just—

_You don’t have to be sorry, because if this was all you ever gave me I’d take it, even if I wanted more and then some._

He turns to Suga fully, then, and dares to extend a hand and cup his cheek. 

“Hey,” he says, words forced short and clipped by emotion. “Suga— _Koushi_ — I love you.”

It’s been so long since he last said it aloud, but it’s just as true. He loves him. He loves Sugawara Koushi, wobbly-voiced and reaching for him with shaking fingers, the same one who he knew at 15, at 16, at 17. At eighteen, when the two of them stood together on the precipice of adulthood and walked that perilous tightrope of a line together. Sugawara Koushi, who used to smell faintly of his coconut soap after a shower, who used to leave a change of clothes at Daichi’s all the time just in case he stayed the night. Who holds Daichi’s world inside his ribcage for safekeeping.

Maybe it _is_ selfish, but Daichi wants to fold him into his arms and keep him there forever. He leans in and kisses him slow, far from the swift and unmeasured hurry they had before, all the kisses that had felt like trying to sip from a cup too fast and letting all the drink dribble down your chin. He hesitates a moment too long, too concerned with being gentle, and Suga is the first to tilt his head to the side and deepen it because he can, because he’s a little shit, and Daichi can’t help but huff a laugh through his nose even as he returns the kiss with the same fervor. He opens up his mouth a little wider and leans into the warmth of him and thinks _god, Oh my god, all this time and I hadn’t known you were feeling the same way._

“I love you,” Suga breathes against his mouth, half laughter, half wonder. Daichi smiles into his teeth.

How stupid. How stupid, and yet how very natural that the two of them would only assume that they didn’t have room for the other, even though they had left plenty upon parting, little love-shaped cutouts that couldn’t be filled by anyone else. Haven’t they been down this road before? Haven’t they had enough of the uncertainty and the fear?

He scoots impossibly close and drapes his arms over Daichi’s shoulders, wrapping around him such that even when they pull back they remain tangled. There's no doubt in his mind that they still have much to talk about after this, but for now he savors the moment. With their foreheads pressed together, looking into each other’s eyes at such a funny angle, Daichi wants to laugh… so he does.

Koushi grins right back at him.

  
  


—

  
  


Time moves at the same pace that it did without Suga as it does with Suga. Months slip between his fingers like grains of sand, quick to come and quick to go.

Spring turns to summer turns to fall. Things are far from they were before, but this change is welcome; regardless of how fast or slow his weeks pass, they come with the return of texts from a number he hasn’t messaged in far too long, of clothes (new and familiar alike) being left all over his dorm room; his chair, his desk, his drawers. It’s a little odd, shaking off the dust, but they do it together, and that makes all the difference.

Before he knows it, he will be greeting Suga with a wave just as he used to, will be looking at him from across a table and plates of food, will be rolling over in bed next to the same figure he’s lain next to so many times before, each moment etched into him long ago turned new in the light of dawn. And every time, every single time—

_Ah,_ he’ll think. _I’m home._

**Author's Note:**

> Pulling [tiff](https://twitter.com/sapphosaeko) into a deep romantic dip and kissing them hard on the mouth for listening to me and then discussing + giving me their opinions on this when i was in the midst of writing!! It helps a lot when i'm able to walk someone through how i see it in my head and then work out all of the kinks. this fic idea has been on my mind since november and i was so pumped to see the first round of jukebox was mitski!!
> 
> Wish i could bring myself to make this more angsty because mitski but ... I simply can't... I have to give daisug the happy ending okay... Maybe another time. Did u know that sometime after this takes place suga takes daichi to get his ears pierced as well? Yeah
> 
> about halfway thru editing this i realized i didn't include a scene in which they hold hands under a table like how the song says... which is a shame. But i'll write it someday i promise you. No guarantees, but was thinking of making a second part to this from suga's pov because... i had stuff i wanted to include that i couldn't... idk if it will ever see the light of day though. Either way, more daisugas to come!
> 
> If u read my long ass note i appreciate u. Find me on twitter [@daichiscasket](https://twitter.com/daichiscasket) <33 and thank you for reading!!


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